Don’t steal. It’s not nice ‘yo

4.) “Who first told you that it’s not nice to stare? Write about a time you stared when you maybe shouldn’t have, or a time when sometime stared at you.”

I’m a window gazer. I gaze out of windows whenever I’m in a car. If I’m the passenger, 90% of the time is spent gazing. If I’m the driver, whenever I’m at a red light, my eyes are immediately drawn to the side window to look at the people in the car next to me. I feel like it’s a bad habit, but it’s a habit that isn’t hurting anyone. It’s just…kind of weird, and embarrassing sometimes (when I get caught). I try not to actually stare into the cars next to me, just glance over the people and then look at something else. A tree. The nose of their car. The car across the street and to the side. Anything but the people in the car next to me.

I don’t like to be stared at. It makes me antsy. In fact, when I’m stared at I will do anything to avoid their gaze. That is why it’s so important to not be caught gazing. Because then the people in the other car? Totally stare. Quick glances, size up the other car, the people in it, are the kids in car seats?, are they even strapped in? I give myself 15 seconds to do this. Avoid getting caught and most importantly, avoid eye contact. Eye contact makes it worse. Sometimes I’m not so lucky.

What’s worse than making just regular eye contact with people in the car next to you? Making eye contact with the people in the car next to you that happens to be full of young men. Nothing makes me feel more awkward than young men seeing me look at them. Why? Because they don’t realize I’m married, with a baby and pregnant. Because they don’t realize they are annoying with their super loud bass and weird, creepy smiles. Because they don’t realize that I didn’t mean anything by it, that I’m just a gazer. And so what do the cars full of young men do? They smile and wave. And then, when I look away, not smiling, not waving, they flail their arms, trying to get my attention again. I’m sorry car of young men, I did not mean to gaze at you. If I had known what the inhabitants of that car contained, I would not have allowed my eyes to go to the side.

Now I’m in an awkward predictament. Obviously this car full of young men is going in the same direction as me, for a least a little while. And the car full of young men? No matter how slow or fast I go, matches my speed, flailing and trying to get my attention. My mother warned me about boys like you, car full of young men. You will try to trick me into thinking my tire is flat and that the lot of you will help me change it if I pull over. And when that happens? Kidnap and rape. I learned from my momma. Plus, if I look? You might follow me, and then when I get to Target, you will come up to me. And when that happens? Kidnap and rape. I learned from my momma and Nancy Grace. So I continue to drive. If my husband were here, car full of young men, he would lean forward at this point and stare at you, and you would get freaked out because he is big and scary and would whoop your ass. He doesn’t like people staring at his things. Especially his hot things.

Finally, the car full of young men gives up on me. They realize I’m snotty and not interested (not snotty, just allergic to being kidnapped and raped) in their shenanigans. So they speed off. I continue on my way, barely going the speed limit, because there is another stop light coming up, and I don’t want to be caught next to them again. But they are long gone when I get there, sped off in a wave of bass and burnt rubber. So I stop at the red light comfortably, and I begin to gaze. And the people in the car next to me? They catch me in my gaze. And they stare.